Face Without a Name
by The Lonely Padawan
Summary: Batman couldn't save him. The doctors couldn't help him. Guess that leaves only me, Jack's daughter, to be able to avenge him.
1. Chapter 1

**Onyxx: I'm aware, I should be finishing my other story. =P I came up with this idea in about ten seconds and then built on it, so tell me what you guys think.**

**Also, any appearances of the Joker WILL be in character (unless it's a flashback to the past when he was Jack Napier) this time, so I expect no flames.**

**This is not, at first, a romance, but I'm considering turning it into one featuring the beloved, disgraced Dr. Crane, too. =3 Your thoughts on the matter?**

Prologue

Matilda was just another face. With blue contact lenses and her straight black wig (longer than her real hair, as well), she was just another kid on the streets of Gotham. She had no name, she had no substance. People shoved past her as if she weren't there, as if they didn't see the person in jeans and oversized T-shirts.

Sometimes they noticed her. Sometimes they'd stop right in front of her, squint really hard, and say, "You look like the Joker!"

She'd never reply. She'd instead walk past them with her head down, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. For, you see, Matilda didn't want people to see her. She wanted to be invisible.

When they noticed her, she would run away and hide, because it was when they noticed her that they gave her a name. A name took away from her hiding place, from her little place of solitude.

It was when they gave her a name that they shunned and ridiculed her.

No one knew she had dark brown eyes and light blond hair. No one noticed her wide mouth, her rounded nose, her pointed, elongated chin. No one saw the diagonal lines of her cheekbones that extended to her jaw. And it was when people did notice that she had to run away before they knew she was the Joker's daughter.

She hadn't spoken to her father in more than six years. She was sixteen now. He'd taken care of her for most of her life, but he had a mental breakdown when she was ten and she was sent to live with her grandmother. The terror that the Joker brought to Gotham forced Ruby and Matilda into hiding, forced them to hide their faces for the shame that Jack brought the Napier family.

Matilda wasn't ashamed of him anymore, however. She was just afraid she'd be pegged the freak, the outcast. She wanted to fit in. She wanted to grow and change like the rest of the world, no matter the cost.

And if it meant disowning her father, then that was the price she was willing to pay.

She walked down the street, counting the cracks in the pavement as her feet stepped over them. She sighed and looked up at the sky. So peaceful. It was hard to believe that under the same sky, there was a madman running rampant through the streets; that in the same city where such beauty as the Wayne family and the good they've done, there was uglyness like crime and filth.

She looked down again and continued walking until she reached a small house on the outskirts of town. She could see in the kitchen window, and smiled as she saw a tall woman with graying blond hair and dark eyes trying (and failing) to make a decent batch of cookies. Ruby Napier had never been one for cooking, forget baking altogether.

Matilda opened the door and walked in, dropping her schoolbags on the floor and swiping a spoonful of raw cookie dough.

"Okay, Tildy, I hope you know that's one less cookie for you," Ruby said, smiling.

"They're all burned anyway."

"Then that's one less burned cookie for you." Her grandmother sighed and dumped the burned batch in the garbage container. "What do you say we go to Wal-Mart and buy some cookies from the bakery?"

Matilda smiled. "Sounds like a plan," she said, taking off her wig. Her hair underneath was short, barely brushing her jaw, and curly, like her father's.

Ruby ran a bony, wrinkled hand through her granddaughter's hair. "You look so much like Jack," she whispered with a sad smile.

Matilda sighed and walked to the refrigerator. "You talk as if Dad's dead," she remarked darkly, grabbing the milk.

The mustard-yellow jug matched the wallpaper perfectly. Ruby always said she'd paint the walls, but they never got around to it. They had buckets of paint on the back porch, but something always came up.

The older woman sighed. "I know," she said softly. "I know. I don't mean to talk that way."

Matilda gave her a small smile. "I know." She poured herself a glass of milk and put the jug back in the refrigerator. "So, before we go to Wal-Mart to get the cookies, what do you say we watch the news and see what Dad's been up to lately?"

Ruby sighed. "I don't see why you insist on watching the news just to see what crimes Jack has committed lately, Tildy," she whispered. "I don't see what good it does."

Matilda didn't say anything. They both knew the reason they watched the news, read the paper, looked for any familiar names in the obituaries. They both knew they had to face the truth: Jack Napier, Ruby's only son and Matilda's loving father, was a murderer, a thief, and a psychopath. There was no getting around it, no alternative.

They went to the living room soundlessly and turned on the TV. Ruby pulled Matilda into a one-armed hug as the anchorman launched into the headlines.

"Good evening," he said. "Gotham City is in shambles as the Joker's attempt to blow up two ferries goes wrong for him. Reporter Cindy Donovan is live at the scene."

The screen cut to a woman standing on one of the higher floors of a half-constructed building, her perfect blond hair whipping about her face in the wind. A dark figure in a cape walked away from the scene behind her, refusing the microphone and camera. The Batman held his head down, as if he felt disgraced and guilty of something.

Ruby and Matilda shared a look of confusion.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're coming to you live from this building where the Batman and the Joker's battle has come to an abrupt end," the woman said. "This evening, the Joker planted a bomb in each ferry trying to escape the city, telling the passengers of each that if they didn't blow up the other boat, he'd blow them both up. The Batman managed to stop him, but at what cost? SWAT teams and police officers arrived at the scene. Just as the Batman tossed the Joker over the side of this building, an officer took a shot and killed the clown prince of crime. The Batman attempted to rescue the Joker via his grappling hook, but it was too late. Edwin, back to you at the studio."

The camera cut to the man again. "We have a photo of the Joker without his makeup and we ask that if anyone in Gotham knows who this man is, please, come claim his remains and give this man a funeral." A photo appeared over his head of a scarred blond man, once handsome. Now he just looked dead and cold.

Ruby and Matilda sat in stunned silence.

"He... he's..." Matilda couldn't speak. She choked, unable to cry. Her grandmother put a hand over her mouth and began to sob. They clutched each other until Ruby decided to get the phone and call the studio.

"My name is Ruby Napier, and that man is my son Jack..." Matilda heard her say. She sat there in numb silence, unable to speak, to breathe, to feel anything. Her father was dead. Dead, dead, dead and gone. She'd never see him again, never hear him laugh again (not the iconic laugh he'd become known for, but his genuine laugh). He'd never give her a proud, happy look when he saw her, he'd never give her a smile and a warm, fierce hug when she made him proud.

Of course, he hadn't done those things in six years. He hadn't done those things since the day all the mental, emotional fatigue set in and he left Matilda at her grandmother's house and went out to drive the city as mad as he was.

And when all this, the reality of death, of her father's death, began to set in, that was when Matilda found herself able to cry. Hot, fat tears rolled down her cheeks in torrents as she sobbed painfully, clutching a pillow to her chest, as if it was Jack himself. She cried out in anguish until Ruby pulled her into her warm arms and began to sing a lullaby.

Her crying ceased, her sobs subsided, and Matilda began to drift off to a fitful, nightmare-ridden sleep.

She knew her life had taken a turn for the worst; it now spun out of control in a spiral, always heading down at breakneck speed. She knew that, no matter what, nothing would ever be the same again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One:

Commissioner Jim Gordon couldn't believe his eyes. He took his glasses off, examining the photos, but either way, they were the same. He looked at the officer in front of him. "Kane, are these real or have they been photoshopped?" he asked, putting them on his desk.

"They're real, sir," Officer Bob Kane said. "The girl looked up at one of the cameras when she robbed that bank. No one tampered with the photographs."

Gordon sighed, wiping a hand over his face. "I can't believe it. I thought that son of a bitch was dead and gone." He looked back at the photos. "Now it seems he's living on through this girl. Does she have an alias?"

"None, sir. She seems to work alone, too."

"Is there any sort of tactic to her killings or thefts?"

"None. She's only killed three people so far, with nothing to connect them. The banks she's robbed are mob banks."

"She seems to be a copycat," Gordon said, "in more ways than just the makeup. What's she hiding under there?" He examined the photos closely, but they were grainy and it was impossible to decipher any important physical features. He put the photo back down. "Get a team together and find her. See if you can find any way to trace her."

Officer Kane nodded and took the photos. "We'll see if we can find anything about her. Sir, I very seriously doubt..."

"This is Gotham City. We have had criminals dress up as clowns and scarecrows and our only hope for help is a man that dresses up as a bat. If you're still doubting, get out of town." Gordon walked out of the room, his fists clenching.

* * *

Matilda yawned, crawling off the mattress on the floor. She stood and stumbled over to the closet to pick out something to wear today at college—basically, to grab a random shirt and pair of jeans.

With a glance at her alarm clock, she hissed a rather colorful string of swear words under her breath and stumbled into her jeans, hopping around on one leg as she tried to get the other through. Neglecting the hairbrush, she pulled the bright blue T-shirt over her head and ran out the door with her bag.

Walking to Gotham University usually didn't take very long, but as late as it was, the streets were so crowded Matilda could barely get through the masses. She ran a hand through her tangled blond curls to try and make herself look halfway decent, as if she _hadn't_ crawled off a mattress on the floor in an apartment in the Narrows. Sadly, it didn't work very well.

On top of everything, the only thing on her mind was the fact that she'd completely forgotten deodorant.

With a curse and a stomp of her flip-flopped foot, she shoved through businessmen and women and nearly knocked over an old lady when she began sprinting.

"I'm gonna be late, I'm gonna be late, I'm gonna be late..." she grumbled under her breath, running as fast as possible down the street. If an officer even _looked_ at her for jaywalking, she'd slap the hell out of him and keep moving. She was not in a good mood.

A taxi pulled up right in front of her, and she had to catch herself before she fell headfirst in front of it. She flipped off the driver before glancing at the passenger exiting the car, realizing he looked slightly familiar—dark hair, contrasting icy (almost creepy) blue eyes behind rimless glasses, full lips, and strong cheekbones. She could have sworn she'd seen him somewhere... but where? When?

The driver of the taxi honked, and she flipped him off again after diverting her attention from the familiar (and rather handsome) stranger, then ran across the street to the university.

* * *

Jonathan Crane pursed his lips after noticing the rather grungy-looking girl eyeing him strangely, grabbing his suitcase out of the taxi. He was (finally) out of Arkham, as his madness had seemingly been "cured." Thankfully, a good amount of money and a threatening amount of fear toxin was enough to get even the most devoted and good-hearted of psychiatrists to lie through his teeth.

He looked back across the street at the girl as she ran into the doors of the college, rolling his eyes. He'd graduated long ago, but he still remembered the days when he woke up late and had to run, ignoring whoever he shoved out of the way (he'd once come close to being sued for nearly shoving a little old lady in front of a bus, but it hadn't been his fault she was standing too close to the edge of the sidewalk), but it still gave her no cause to nearly jump in front of a taxi just to get across the street. Do unto others instead of sacrificing yourself—that was _his_ motto.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Crane nodded curtly to the driver and paid him, then began to walk down the street to his old apartment in the Narrows before remembering he'd burned it down and had been selling his fear drug while living in a van. He pondered this for a moment and decided he probably needed to find somewhere to stay.

It took a few hours, but he finally was able to rent an apartment and moved all of his things into it. Basically, he tossed his suitcase into a corner and sat down on the floor, looking around at the sparsely furnished apartment. Aside from the obvious lack of a bed, couch, table, refrigerator, and other necessities of life in an already shitty apartment, it was suitable for the night.

_At least it's not that padded cell, _he thought to himself, lying down and folding his arms behind his head.

* * *

Matilda groaned and stumbled into her apartment. She yawned, flopping down onto the mattress, and decided to get some sleep before she went out for the night. If this was a sign as to how things would be for a while, she'd probably have to quit college and figure out some way to work while sleeping during the day.

Wait, why did she need to work?

She sat bolt upright, completely forgetting about the night before's activities. Getting up quickly, her exhaustion forgotten entirely, she ran over to her closet and shoved aside the few clothes, taking out one of the many black duffel bags that formed a mountain in the bottom of her closet. Once opened, there was a neatly folded purple and green outfit inside. She took it out—first the adorable ruffled skirt, then the starched white dress shirt, the emerald green vest, and the brilliantly violet tailcoat. She put it on the mattress, then delved a little deeper into the bag.

Wads and _wads_ of cash.

She giggled to herself. She could pay off all of her student loans. She could move out of this stupid apartment and buy a house.

Matilda chewed her lower lip, counting the money in one stack rather absently. Forget buying a house—she had medical bills for her grandmother she needed to pay.

She smiled. Well, now she had the money, and Grandma Rose would be able to afford her stay at the nursing home, as well.

* * *

Bruce Wayne stared out the window, the glass of brandy in his hand while his left tapped out a pattern on the leg of his trousers.

"Master Bruce, if you keep staring out that window, I'm going to call Lucius and tell him you've gone mad," Alfred said as he placed a tea tray down. "You look terrible."

"I haven't been sleeping, Alfred," he said softly, turning slightly to look at his aging butler. His eyes had dark circles under them, and he looked pale. "I keep seeing him looking at me like that."

Alfred frowned slightly, but suspected he didn't need to ask—Bruce would explain in a few moments.

"I can't help but remember the way his eyes were," Bruce continued, confirming Alfred's suspicions. "His eyes weren't actually black, they were brown. Almond. It almost seemed like they changed colors, but they didn't. The mind behind them just changed." He looked down at the glass of brandy with disdain, swirling it around a bit. "I'll never forget what he said to me. It was so clear."

"What was clear, sir?" the old butler couldn't help but ask.

"In his last moments, the Joker—Jack Napier—wasn't the murderer he had been," Bruce said. "His mind had returned, and he looked so miserable, so regretful..." His voice became sad and pained. "And I couldn't save him. All I could do was watch as the gun fired and the man died right in front of me."

Alfred sighed. "In their last moments, the insane do seem sane," he said, clearing up some of the untidyness about the room. "Master Bruce, get some sleep. You look like hell."

Bruce smirked a bit, and placed the glass down on the tea tray. "Alfred, remember what you said about me having you followed on your day off?"

"Yes."

"Feel free to take one. I promise I won't have any paparazzi tail you."

The old man chuckled. "I don't think I'll take my chances," he said, picking up the tray and carrying it off.

**A/N: Wow! Didn't think this chapter would take so long! Sorry for the delay, guys, been kinda busy with school and whatnot. Though that's no excuse. Anyways, here you go!**


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